


Comfort Zones

by freyafrida



Category: Rebelde Way
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyafrida/pseuds/freyafrida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And what is she supposed to do? Just reach out and touch Marcos?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zones

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, I wrote _Rebelde Way_ fanfic. What is my life. Based off of episode 1x20.

So, this is kind of weird.

Luján isn't nervous or anything -- it's just blindfolds, after all, and she has better things to get all fluttery over. Marcos, of all people, isn't one of those things. It's just, you know…weird. Around them, their classmates are groping at each other, slack-jawed. It's a bit surreal.

 _Marcos_ is nervous, even more nervous than Manuel and Mía, who are just standing there, staring at each other like idiots. Marcos isn't staring, necessarily, but his hands are shaking and he keeps dropping the blindfold around her neck.

"For God's sake, Marcos!" Luján snaps, grabbing the strip of cloth. "Here, I'll do it myself. Let me do yours."

"S-sorry," Marcos stammers, ducking his head, turning red behind those gigantic glasses. Does anyone even wear glasses like that anymore? Luján sometimes wonders if Marcos knows how ridiculous he looks. She grabs his blindfold and unceremoniously wraps it around his face, shoving his glasses into his hand. Then she does her own, tying it quickly and efficiently. 

And now…what? Luján suddenly sympathizes with her classmates; blindness is disconcerting. She's not even sure what direction she's looking in right now. Around her, she can hear uncomfortable laughter -- except for Marizza, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying the experience -- and the occasional "Sorry! Sorry!" 

And what is she supposed to do? Just reach out and  _touch_ Marcos? It's not like she doesn't know what he looks like. He's probably not even facing the right way.

A weird sort of tickling sensation flickers around her shoulder, and Luján instinctively swats at it. "S-sorry!" Marcos says, and she realizes that it was his hand.  _Well, at least he's facing the right direction._

"It's okay," she says. Hesitantly, she reaches out and encounters…nothing. Where is he? She slowly moves her hand to the right, then to the left, feeling foolish. If there is one thing Luján hates, it is being a fool. Mansilla is probably laughing at them all right now.

Suddenly her hand encounters skin and Luján jerks back without thinking.

"L-Luján?"

"Sorry," she mutters, reaching out again. Okay, so if his hands are there, then his face must be… _there._

This time it is Marcos who steps back as Luján prods his face with her hand a bit too roughly. 

"Don't be so scared," she says, a bit more curtly than she means to. Her discomfort is being edged out by her desire to finish the assignment without any fuss or idiocy. Luján hates failure, too. 

Marcos, though, is not cooperating. He bats her hands away at every opportunity, tries to jerk out of her grasp when she grabs his sleeve. 

"What is _wrong_ with you, Marcos?" she asks, swinging her arms at him uselessly. 

"Sorry," he mumbles. So far, he's made no effort to touch her.

"Stand still," she commands. She can't tell whether or not he obeys precisely, but he merely flinches when she touches his shirt, instead of moving away. "That you?" she asks dryly.

"Y-yes," he says, taking her completely seriously. "Er, my arm."

Hesitantly, she moves her hand up, feeling the crisp uniform material under her fingers. When her hand only feels air, she moves it slightly to the left, finding his shoulder. 

 _This is weird_ , she thinks again. Nerves are starting up in her stomach. This is more than weird -- it's  _personal_ , far too intimate for her liking. Her fingers collide with skin and okay, this is even worse. She's actually touching him now. She can feel him swallow. He's shaking a bit under her fingertips.  _Not good, not good, not good._

A bit further up, she finds his jawline. She touches sporadically, lest she start… _caressing_ him, or something equally stupid. 

The tickling sensation comes again, this time up by her hair. Luján resists the urge to slap his hand -- she's not used to being touched, and the blindness just adds to the discomfort of it all. Marcos, seemingly encouraged by the fact that he's found something tangible, brushes his hand against her hair, taps his fingers down the side of her face. His hand is warm, and Luján is surprised at the roughness of his fingertips.  _What have you been doing, Marquitos?_

Feeling a bit more confident, Luján moves her hand further upward, brushing against his cheekbone. His face is warm under her hand -- is he blushing? 

Is she?

"Okay! That was good, that was good. You can take the blindfolds off now."

Somewhere between relieved and disappointed, Luján quickly drops her hand and slips her blindfold off, squinting a bit in the light. The other students are talking easily with each other, turning back to their groups of friends seemingly without a second thought. 

 _Idiot_ , she thinks. It was just a weird experiment, just another attempt by their teachers to promote unity amongst their (extremely divided) class. Nobody else is letting it affect them.

"Are you…okay?" Marcos asks. 

Luján can't bring herself to answer. Suddenly she's deeply irritated -- with Marcos, with Mansilla, with herself. She tosses the blindfold to the ground and stomps off to join Marizza without looking back. 


End file.
